He Doesn't Love Me
by Lovely Little Knives
Summary: Glimmer and Clove both died separately, differently. They were both at different ends of the scale, but they shared one trait: they both wanted to die in Cato's arms. Glato/Clato. T for character death


**Yes, folks, it's true: I too have joined the Hunger Games bandwagon. I feel so ashamed! It took all of my willpower to stay away from it, save for my appreciation for its political message and the fact it overcame Twilight (I'd rather see Team Peeta shirts everywhere than Team Edward), but in the end I was broken. I am weak, but I find I enjoy the fandom. Especially *gasp* the range of pairings! It's like a candy shop: I watched the movie and fangirl'd all over the place! Especially with relationship promises amongst the Careers. Laaaaa! **

**Anywho, please enjoy. I was a Glato fan from the first moment I saw the two, but then I read DaughterofAres97's oneshot 'Soon My Love', and now I don't know what to believe in anymore! If you enjoy Clato, I suggest you read it. It's well written and I don't think I've ever cried more for the death of one of the bad guys. Anyways, enjoy! Of course, I don't own Hunger Games or any of its characters.**

**(NOTE: this is set in the movie-verse, unfortunately. Like I said, I wasn't really into Clato at the start, but even I was disappointed with her death in the movie. C'mon, that part was a friggin' GOLDMINE for shippers! But yeah, I just thought it would fit better if this was set like the movie. Sorry :(.)**

* * *

I didn't want to die like this – I didn't really want to die at all; I was supposed to win this thing, but perhaps I overestimated myself. The four of us in both Districts 1 and 2 had our hearts and minds set on winning, more so than the rest; we had the potential. All of us. We were all as murder-happy as each other, perhaps with Clove leading by example, and there could only be one. If I was going to be killed, I'd accepted it would be by their hands. But it wasn't. I was the first of our group to go, and my death was neither pleasant nor justifying.

As I stumbled blindly after the others, my arms swinging wildly around my head, futile in shooing away the aggravated Tracker-Jacks as they attacked every inch of me in quick, painful succession, I could only hope to eventually outrun them. But my courage was a wasted effort. All hope was lost for me now; with each second my vision seemed to become obscured further by more of the lethal insects – or were they just in my head?

My breathing echoed in my ears: rasping, stuttering, dying; heard well above the furious buzzing emanating from the whirling black cyclone around me and my air-splitting screams, which had begun to fade. The others were out of site now, and I could no longer follow. I fell to my knees, my attempt to run abandoned. Many of the Tracker-Jacks left me, some still digging into my numb limbs, determined to see me finished. My hand still clenched the smooth silver bow, my arrows abandoned in the chaos we'd awoken to. They didn't matter now, nothing did.

The forest around me flickered as my eyes quivered open and closed. The pain, and my strength, was ebbing, but I wasn't dead just yet. As long as I was alive, I was seen as entertainment, and right now, I was probably entertaining hundreds. But their mirth would only last momentarily; I was drifting…

My eyes fluttered shut, but my ears still scoped for the slightest noise. I could still hear vague buzzing, distant birds, my own dying breath…and the heavy crunch of boots over twigs and leaves. My breath hitched on its own accord and I found myself let slip a small sigh. Someone had come back. I forced my heavy eyelids open, and the sight before me was the best thing I had ever hoped to see before dying:

Cato. He came for me.

He crouched down beside me, his face wrought with worry and sorrow, the spark in his eyes seeming to shine just for me. But he did not speak. Words played no part in this moment.

"You…you came back for me," my voice was barely audible; my throat was laden with stings that had already begun to swell with infection. Breathing was difficult, but I had to speak to him, if even for the last time.

Even now, I was ashamed of my feelings. I couldn't afford to feel anything for anyone, but I did. I felt something for _Cato_. In the beginning, it was just a façade, a trick to get the best advantage I could. I warmed up to him, got on his good side. If we made an alliance, he would protect me until the time came for us to part, and I would lodge an arrow in his head without hesitation. It was all a game and he fell for my tricks.

But maybe, just maybe, he had been playing the same trick on me, and I fell for them. I fell for _him_. After snuggling up to him the night before, and falling asleep in his arms, I couldn't deny that. He was my complete undoing, and I was paying for it. But at least I got to see him one last time.

"C-Cato…" I whispered, my free hand trembling horribly, covered in lumps and scars, as it crept forward to his leg with difficulty. I wanted him to know how I felt. I wanted to die in his arms, to be able to look into his eyes as the light left mine. I wanted to hear his voice one last time.

But my hand reached his knee, taking all my strength, and the last of my hope faded as it fell to the ground again. He was a hallucination; the real Cato had run off after all. Who was I fooling? He didn't care about me. Why would he?

All hope was lost at the realisation. I was alone, nearing my end. My eyes fluttered closed for the final time, my final breath escaping my lungs. In a perfect world, my final thought would've been of Cato, but it would've been years from now after I'd won the Hunger Games. My final moment was a dark, shattered abyss of taunting demons and revelations. Cato didn't love me.

He loved _Clove_.

* * *

I screamed his name into the air, praying for him to come as I was held helpless between Thresh and the Cornucopia. This was new territory; I'd never felt this scared before; I didn't know what else to do except scream. My heart pounded in my ears, my feet inches above the ground so I could be eye-level with the brute. There was genuine fear in my eyes, but in his I saw only wild bloodlust. If Cato didn't come, I was going to die.

My voice shook as I pleaded for Thresh to understand. I didn't kill Rue, Marvel did. My pact with him was something I questioned myself. I had told Cato affiliations would slow us down, and they had. Lover Boy from 12 had led us on a wild good chase until we found the girl ourselves, Glimmer had lost the only bow and arrow we had when she was too slow to outrun the Tracker-Jacks and Marvel's stunt was about to have me killed. Cato and I could've done fine on our own.

He smashed me against the cold metal of the Cornucopia with a roar of anger. All breath flew from my lungs as my back hit the wall and my eyes scrunched themselves shut. Pain shuddered through my spine, down my limbs, and I cried out in agony. He yelled at me, demanded me to tell him if I killed Rue. I told him the truth: no.

But it wasn't enough for Thresh. He was as strong as Cato was, and as much as I hated to admit it, right now he was proving to be stronger. He pulled me forward, giving me no time to catch my breath before I was slammed into the wall again. The pain doubled and my head, although uninjured, began to spin. Through the daze I saw a knife in Thresh's pocket, but he made no indication of wanting to use it. So what was his plan for me? Did he want to make me as lightheaded as possible and _then_ fight me? Coward.

He yelled the same question in my face, louder and angrier. I couldn't focus; my mouth wouldn't move and no sound came out, save for a squeak of pain. So I shook my head determinedly. It still didn't satisfy him, and he roared in anger. He wrenched my body forward, delaying the third strike for a moment longer. My hands had come to rest atop his, pleading with him to stop like the rest of me. He didn't even smirk as he threw me a third time, his hands releasing my waterproof jacket. In one final attempt, I screamed out for Cato, but only half a second's worth of sound came out, before my impact with the metal silenced me. My head flew back, banging against the wall with brutal force. There was a deafening crack in my ears, and I knew I was gone. Warm liquid trickled through my hair, down my neck. For a moment, it seemed like I was suspended there, before I slid down the wall and crumpled in a heap as soon as my feet touched the ground. My body was frozen, unable to move when I wanted. The only moving part of me was a twitching foot; the only working part of me was my mind, but even that was beginning to slow. I couldn't call for Cato now, but it didn't matter. He wouldn't come, and if he did, he'd be too late. I was too broken to be fixed.

He'd started acting different ever since we were attacked by the Tracker-Jacks. We'd lost a few important items in that mess: Glimmer, our only straight-shooter, along with our bow and arrows; and most importantly, our pride. After we recovered enough from our hallucinations to think straight, he rounded up surviving kids from other Districts, determined to get every last remaining resource and make them unreachable. He was resolute, stubborn. He wanted to win more than anything now, to make everyone else suffer as much as possible.

I admired that. He wasn't to be messed with when he was angry – the boy from District 3 learned that the hard way – and yet I felt like an exception. He didn't threaten me like he did the others, never showed any sign of wanting to hurt me. I felt safe with him, because he would protect me.

But he also protected _Glimmer_.

I hated her, with every fibre in my being. When she died, I was glad; I had Cato all to myself, without having to worry about her flirtatious interference. But now…I felt nauseous with the recognition that maybe Cato wasn't untouched by her death as I'd thought. If she hadn't died, would he still have been as determined? Was the malice in his eyes not out of wanting revenge like I'd thought, but out of wanting to _avenge_ her death? She wasn't as bloodthirsty as I was, but she was prettier. Perhaps Cato saw her as more impressive than me. I only volunteered to impress him, but now it seemed like a wasted effort.

He wouldn't come for me, I'd accepted that. Thresh had drawn his attention to the _'Girl on Fire'_. He didn't kill her; he said something to her, but all sound was fuzzy to me, like I was underwater, listening to voices above the surface. I was fading slowly; still scared. I didn't want to die, not alone, anyway. But the one person I wanted to be with wouldn't come. He wouldn't try to avenge me; he would've killed me himself, eventually. I was just a rival to him, and he should've been the same to me. But I wouldn't have been able to kill him.

My vision had begun to blur around the edges. I was almost gone, but as far as the other two were aware, I was already dead. I could feel something slide down my face – a tear? No, it couldn't be. I wasn't emotional.

Well, until today I wasn't scared either, but death seems to bring out the strangest feelings in people. I hoped, with every malicious fibre I had left, that Cato would enjoy the emotions death brought out in the two from 12. He had to make District 2 proud, if not for me, then for _her_.

I heard the canon boom somewhere in the distance, but it didn't feel real anymore. I was somewhere else now; they couldn't hurt me here. Not Thresh, not a knife, not even the pain of knowing Cato and I could never be possible now. He hadn't come in my hour of need, but none of that worried me now. I was at peace; at least I'd accepted I loved him. But he obviously didn't love me.

He loved _Glimmer_.

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**And there you have it: the worst teen crisis I've ever laid my eyes on. I hope you enjoyed it! Please review, I enjoy hearing your feedback! Thank you for reading, and *shudder* may the odds be ever in your favour.**

**Sincerely,  
The Sock That Never Stays Orange**


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